


It’s Not a Surprise if Everyone Knows

by GalahadWilder



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Anxiety Disorder Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Autistic Adrien Agreste, Birthday Party, F/M, Fluff, French sign language, I promise, Love Languages, Sign Language, Surprise Party, This is so fluffy you will be screaming, adrien's birthday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadWilder/pseuds/GalahadWilder
Summary: “The problem is,” Nino continues, “that the key element of a surprise *birthday* party is that the birthday boy thinks everyone’s forgotten his birthday.”OR: In which Adrien hijacks his own surprise birthday party to show his appreciation for Marinette.





	1. In Which Nino is an Excellent Friend to Both Our Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [cheesecake and sweetie pie-rates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397718) by [AlexSeanchai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSeanchai/pseuds/AlexSeanchai). 

“The key component of any surprise party,” Nino says, idly tapping on the open math textbook with his pen, “is that the person the party is _for_ isn’t expecting one.”

Adrien nods. He’s only sort of paying attention, a little focused on his chem homework. This reduction equation is _ridiculous_.

“The problem is,” Nino continues, “that the key element of a surprise _birthday_ party is that the birthday boy thinks everyone’s forgotten his birthday.”

Adrien stiffens a bit at his words. Memories of every lonely birthday flash through his mind, every year that his parents forgot, and he barely manages to suppress a shudder at the thought. He doesn’t want to say anything, but... that sounds hellish.

“See!” Nino says, pointing his pen, before sheepishly sinking into himself as he remembers that they are in the library and he should probably not be yelling. “I knew that would be a thing for you. What with...” He coughs a bit into his hand, then purses his lips, pretending to blow bubbles through his fingers.

Adrien snorts.

“So I just, you know,” Nino says, turning back to his book, “wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Knew what?” Adrien says. Oh! Hang on, that should be _three_ hydrogen ions, not four. Electron _there_...

“Nobody forgot your birthday next week,” Nino says, scratching out a few extra data points on the quadratic chart he’s making. “Marinette’s planning a surprise party for you, and she swore everyone else to secrecy.”

Adrien’s breath catches in his chest—his classmates are planning a party? For him? His chemistry homework starts to blur as he feels tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. _I’m getting a birthday party! _the Chat Noir voice inside his head shrieks with delight. Adrien forces it down. Library. No squeeing.

Then something else Nino said processes, and Adrien squints. “Back up,” he says. “Marinette?”

Nino tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“_Marinette_ is planning a birthday party. For _me_.”

Nino looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yep.”

“What the _hell?_” Adrien hisses.

Nino’s eyes narrow. “Why is that... surprising?” he says, setting aside his pencil. “She always goes overboard for her friends, dude. You know that.”

Adrien snorts. “We _are_ talking about the same Marinette who was the only person in our class who didn’t show up to my birthday party last year?” he says. He feels a twang of guilt as Nino winces at the mention of the party, but honestly Adrien has made no secret of the fact that he’s kind of grateful to the Bubbler anyway. “The same Marinette who can barely stand to be in the same room as me. And don't think I didn’t notice that she was the _only_ person who didn’t give me a present.” He stares down at his chem homework, trying not to fiddle with his pencil. “I mean, not that I care about the presents really? But—”

Nino groans and collapses, slamming his forehead into the table. “I _knew_ that would backfire,” he mumbles. “I _told_ them.”

Adrien furrows his brow, scrapes his teeth over the edge of his lip. ”You’re confusing me, bro,” he says. “Backfire?”

”The scarf,” Nino groans, not lifting his head. “The blue one. Nette forgot to sign it.”

Adrien’s pencil skitters across the des, thumping to rest against Nino’s math book. “_What_.” The scarf? _The_ scarf? The one from his father?

”Marinette made you that scarf, bro,” Nino says. “Delivered it herself.”

Adrien’s brain is ticking over. “What did... why did she—”

Nino sighs. “She said, and I quote, you ‘seemed so happy that your dad made you a present’ and she ‘didn’t want to take that away from you.’”

Adrien's not sure what to feel. On the one hand, Marinette was right—he feels like like his father has gone inside his stomach and scooped out his intestines with a blunt spoon. On the other, _Marinette doesn't hate him_. His heart is soaring straight out of his chest like a freshly cleansed Akuma butterfly. His gut is roiling with joy and devastation and he's one step short of exploding. “I... think I need to re-evaluate a year’s worth of interactions,” Adrien says. "Please hold."

His father didn't care enough to handmake the scarf, or even pay someone else to handmake it. Instead, he'd stolen someone else's work so that he _didn't have to get his own son a present. _And Marinette, who'd only known him a month, who had every reason to dislike him, had gone out of her way to make him a present and then had let him believe—

_My father **doesn't** care._

The day at the movies. The lucky charm. The, oh, she'd invited him to ice cream at _André's_...

“Oh, cats—the museum!" he says, slapping himself in the forehead. "She was serious, wasn’t she!”

”The museum?” Nino says. “What did she say?”

Adrien swallows. “That’s, um, private.” And also _horrifically embarrassing_—tiny gods, no wonder she freaked out and tried to deny everything! He purses his lips. “So you’re telling me,” he says, “that the mystery boy that’s been Marinette has a crush on is—” His throat seizes and the bottom of his stomach drops out. "It's me, isn't it." _I told her I was in love with someone else._

Nino snorts. "Took you long enough," he says, rolling his eyes.

"Why didn't anyone _say_ anything!" Adrien cries, shooting to his feet and slamming his hands on the table. He's immediately met by a number of pointed stares from the rest of the library, and he sheepishly sits back down.

"Look," Nino whispers, leaning in. "She's been... too scared to say anything. Didn't want anyone else telling you either."

"Marinette," Adrien whispers back, flatly. "Scared." Marinette, as far as he can tell, isn't scared of anything.

Nino nods. "She's been prone to catastrophizing as long as I've known her," he says. "Worse than you, even."

Adrien breathes in sharply. "And she keeps trying to talk to me _anyway?_" he says, shocked. "I'm... wow. I'd be paralyzed." He sucks in his lips. "I, um... I need to think about this. For—for a while."

* * *

Adrien can't help staring at Marinette after lunch. She's incredible—brilliant, brave, and kind. Widely acknowledged as Fraçoise DuPont's most eligible bachelorette; every single one of his classmates has admitted to having a crush on her at some point except Alix, and even a few people outside of his class. And somehow, she likes _him_. Literally everyone he knows would stab their mother for even a fleeting chance at her romantic attention and she likes _him_.

She's planning a birthday party for him, and doesn't that just light a fire right under his lungs.

He's not sure what to think, or at least he shouldn't be, he realizes as she laughs at something Alya said, blushing, her eyes closing and squeezing his heart like a pillowcase left in the dryer to shrink, tumbling on high. He's in love with Ladybug, right? Always has been, since the moment she got back up and decided that she wasn't going to let her fear keep her down. But Marinette doesn't have superpowers. Marinette, if Nino is to be believed, is more scared of him than he has ever been of anything, even his father. And for all that, she keeps trying. To talk to him. To make him feel appreciated.

Everyday Ladybug. He'd called her Everyday Ladybug.

She looks at him, and he has less than a second before the burning in his face grows unbearable and he can't hold her eyes. He drops his gaze. Swallows.

He's lucky when Mme. Bustier starts class, but he still feels the heat of her gaze on the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot. Then I got up to 2100 words without even getting halfway through.
> 
> This is no longer a oneshot.


	2. How to Teach Your Cat New Languages

“You, uh, you remember that girl I’ve been telling you about?” Chat says that evening. They're sitting on top of the Pont Alexandre III, one of the best spots in Paris for privacy—bridges are _big_—and they're almost done with the croissants Ladybug brought.

“Which one?” Ladybug says, then chomps into her bread with a gleeful tearing of teeth. She chews, swallows. “The liar, or the one you’re not sure is actually a friend?”

”The, uh, the second one,” Chat says. He raises his arm, scratches behind his neck, staring at the flaky crust in his other hand. “I finally found out why she’s so uncomfortable around me.”

Ladybug glances at him, blinks. She puts aside her croissant and points at him. “You’re smiling,” she says, the sides of her mouth quirking up in response.

Chat Noir giggles as his croissant slips out of his hand and smacks into the stone, covering his mouth with his claws and turning away from her. His whole face is burning.

”Oh my gods!” Ladybug squeals, rocking forward to her knees and jabbing her finger at his bell. “She _likes_ you!”

Chat whines, grinning, trying to hide his face behind his arms.

"Chat, that's _wonderful__!__"_ Ladybug says, throwing her arms around his waist. "Don't you keep telling me how you wish you could be closer to her?"

Chat giggles. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah I do."

Ladybug's eyes flick upwards to meet his, sly and narrow and quite frankly inscrutable. "_You like her back_,” she breathes, with an expression on his face like—like she’s not sure whether to give him a high-five or strangle him. She seems simultaneously delighted and offended.

”You know I only have eyes for you!” he says, but even _he_ doesn’t believe the way that sounds. He sighs, clutching at Ladybug’s shoulders. “I... don’t know,” he says. “Maybe?” He shakes his head. “I may need some help.”

Ladybug grimaces, nods, wiggles herself into his lap and throws her legs over his. “Start at the beginning,” she says. “How’d you find out?”

His smile turns sheepish. ”She’s planning a surprise party,” he says. “For my birthday.”

Ladybug snorts, taking her yo-yo from her hip and hanging it between her fingers. “Not much of a surprise if you know about it.”

”I wasn’t supposed to!” Chat protests. “My best friend told me ‘cause... well...” He hangs his head. He doesn’t like talking about this, not with anyone—it’s his job to protect her, not the other way around. But... “He didn’t want me to feel like everyone had forgotten again.”

The yo-yo stops bouncing, spinning frozen at the bottom of its arc. “...Wait,” Ladybug says—her voice sounds like a tightrope walker, barely suspended over _I’m going to murder whoever hurt you_ and wobbling. “_Again_?”

“Uh,” Chat says. “My, uh, my parents... they forgot my birthday. Four years in a row.”

The yo-yo slides off Ladybug’s finger and clatters to the tile roof. She isn’t blinking. Her mouth is open, she’s staring at him, he can see the dull tears gathering where her eyes meet her mask.

”My Lady?” he whispers.

”That’s... I...” Her eyes are dull, but they’re shining where they meet the mask. She squeezes them shut. “You—you—you need—that’s not—”

He takes her hand, wraps his fingers around hers. “Sign it,” he murmurs.

She nods without opening her eyes, scooting back out of his lap so she has room to move her hands. {Small Cat,} she says, her hands forming an approximation of his familiar nickname, {that is not okay.}

"I'm fine," he says. "I'm used to it."

They'd both begun learning French Sign Language after the communications disaster that was Silencer, and, while practicing it with each other, had quickly realized how useful it could be: both of them had a tendency to go nonverbal when sufficiently emotionally distressed, but that only applied to their mouths, not their hands.

Ladybug shakes her head and whines, gritting her teeth. {You should _not_ be,} she objects, _slamming_ her hands into the "not." {No person may hurt you. See through?}

He tilts his head, narrows his eyebrows. "See through?"

She growls, opens her eyes. Her hands are less careful now, less exact, but he still gets the gist of the words. {Water, river, window not dirty—}

"Clear?" he hazards

"C-clear!" she shouts, jabbing at his chest. "_That's_ the word!"

Chat chuckles. "Nobody's hurting me, My Lady," he says, digging a claw into the stone.

"Bullshit," she says, laying her arms on top of each other, horns on one end and wiggling fingers splayed at the other.

He narrows his eyes. "Have you been looking up ASL profanities again?"

"They have better swears." She scoots back into his lap and grabs his shoulders. "Listen to me," she says. "_No one is allowed to hurt you,_ do you understand?"

He swallows and nods.

"So," she says, mercifully sliding back out of his lap just as he realizes how _strong_ her thighs felt against his own. "Mystery girl—let's call her Joan—is planning a surprise party for you."

"Yep," Chat says. "Why Joan?"

Ladybug shrugs. "It's generic," she says. “So Joan is planning a surprise party for you. How does that lead to her being, you know...”

"Crushing on me?" Chat says.

Ladybug winces.

Chat looks down and begins picking apart the last croissant with his claws. Something about this conversation is hurting Ladybug, he can tell, but he's not sure what—she can't be _jealous_, can she? She's made it clear she has no feelings for him. He's been assuming for a year now that she was in denial, but... well, he's not great at reading people, as evidenced by the fact that he completely missed Marinette's interest in him.

"It turns out this isn't the first thing she's done for me," he says. "She keeps... going out of her way to do things for me. Makes me things. Sets up events for me." The croissant falls to flakes and scatters across the bridge, spinning down toward the cars below. "I thought that was just sort of what she did for everybody, but... well, there's this..." He sighs. "She never said anything, you know?"

"It sounds like she did," Ladybug murmurs.

Chat blinks. "What do you mean?"

Ladybug closes her eyes. "What—what do you know about love languages?"

Chat purses his lips. That's not a term he's heard before, but—"You mean Romance languages?" he says. "They're descended from Latin—"

Ladybug bursts into laughter. "_No, _you stupid cat!" she cries, shoving his shoulder. Then her eyes grow soft. "That's... not what I meant at all."

He looks back up at her, confused.

"Love languages are how people express affection," she says, holding up her hand. "There are five: words of affirmation, touch, quality time, gifts, and acts of service." She ticks off a finger at each one. "Based on what you've said about her over the last few months, it sounds like Joan has trouble with words, and with touch—"

"Which are how _I_ express affection," Chat breathes. Oh. That is... a _revelation_.

Ladybug nods. "And how you understand it," she says. "But at a guess, I'd say her love languages are gifts and acts of service."

Chat blinks. "That... makes so much sense," he says, and he's struck with a sudden sense of perspective, like he's standing on top of a mountain and staring down into a canyon below, vertigo and all. If Marinette expresses her affection through acts of service... and she _willingly let him believe that his father made the scarf_...

"This isn't a crush," he whispers. "She's—she's actually in love with me."

Ladybug's eyes go wide. "...Oh." She closes them, shakes her head. "And, uh... How’s that make you feel?”

He opens his mouth, but the words stick in his throat and he can feel the air start to burn his cheeks, his ears, his nose...

Ladybug turns away. “I knew it,” she whispers.

”But—” Chat forces out, finally, “but I’m in love with _you_.” He is, isn’t he? The way he feels about her—Ladybug’s like his arm. His heart. She’s part of him, and the thought of being without her makes him start to suffocate. So—yes. He’s still in love with her. Definitely.

But Marinette—

Marinette is...

Marinette is sunshine.

”I’m in love with you,” he says, “but I think... I think I like her.”

"Nothing wrong with liking two people," Ladybug mumbles, pulling her knees into her chest.

Chat doesn't take the time to read into her words, because he's busy spinning out implications—Ladybug never takes his flirting seriously, he realizes, because she doesn't speak his love language. Touch and words don't mean the same thing to her that they do to him. She hasn't heard a single one of his "I love you"s, the same way he never heard Marinette's.

And then there's the one thing about Marinette he's never had before: he can see himself with her. The two of them, laughing on a couch together in an apartment they share, a little blonde or black-haired child running around by their feet. It's—it's happy, it's the happiest he's ever imagined his future; he's never had this with Ladybug. That's something he can never have with Ladybug—he loves her, yeah, but... He feels the surface of his heart tear a little at the thought. Ladybug is always going to be part of him, but there's no future with her.

Maybe he'll change his mind tomorrow. Maybe he'll fall for Ladybug all over again. Maybe he'll lose this feeling, maybe it's fake, maybe he's just tired of being rejected and wants someone who wants _him_ for once. But it doesn't matter. Marinette deserves to know what she means to him. How important she is to him. And he's going to have to use _her_ love language to do it.


End file.
